


Choking Games

by wordsliketeeth



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Body Worship, Choking, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gender-neutral Reader, Light BDSM, M/M, Other, Praise Kink, Romance, Sensuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:08:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25921849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsliketeeth/pseuds/wordsliketeeth
Summary: Your throat still bears the marks of your previous sessions; bruises in the shape of his fingers circle your throat like a dark wreath. You used to hide the contusions but this has turned into an immemorial tradition that needs no cloaking. You wear the bruises on your body like trophies of his love for you.
Relationships: Mayuzumi Chihiro/Reader
Kudos: 22





	Choking Games

Mayuzumi moves across the room, his eyes dark and intense like a predator stalking its prey. He stops at the edge of the bed to drink in your appearance, his expression, usually inscrutable, is now a striking example of barefaced effrontery. A crooked smile lifts the corner of his mouth as he roves his eyes over your frame, dutifully noting the stretches of bare skin and where they disappear behind blends of cotton and polyester. His favorite button-up hangs open and loose at your chest, its edges withered and limp against the bend of your hips. He gently brushes his fingertips over the jut of your ankle bone, making you squirm and emit an undignified noise that widens the smile on his lips.

Mayuzumi drags his fingers up your shin before he kneels at the edge of the mattress, shifting himself close enough to walk his fingertips up your calf. He wets his lips, then lifts your left leg just enough to plant damp, open-mouthed kisses along the inside of your knee and up to the soft shape of your thigh.

He lifts his gaze just enough to see a smile tug at the corner of your mouth. Your eyes are closed but your lashes are shifting as though you're struggling to keep them shut. A gust of summer air comes in through a partially-open window and a curtain flutters lightly in the breeze to cast him in shade.

Mayuzumi continues his quest, mapping out your blemishes and mottling your leg with kisses, each mole, freckle, and scar a symptom of flawless imperfection. Mayuzumi loves these marks most because what is unseen to others, he can touch and look at whenever the mood strikes him—essentially, that is, if he had things his way, he would have his hands on you at all times.

He emerges out of the shadows and into your enveloping radiance. It's fitting, he thinks, you've always been his guiding light when his world has gone too dark for him to find his way back alone. And it's these vicarious graces that bear the significance of your relationship, the balance, and the trade-off that renders appreciation in the place of needless formality. You bring him home and he brings you to life. You provide him reassurance and stability when he can't bring himself to speak his thoughts out loud; and in turn, he grants you clemency when you lose yourself to your emotions, serves you dominance in the places that can make you feel free again.

He catches a patch of skin between the cool edges of his teeth and bites down, hard enough to drive a pleasurable ache down to your nerves but not firm enough to bruise. You draw a sharp breath in between your teeth and lift your hips away from the bed as if your body is reaching out to touch him. You card a hand through his layered strands and tug at them gently between your fingers.

“Be careful with me. I'm fragile, you know,” you tell him, teasingly.

Mayuzumi huffs a breath of laughter and drags his teeth up to your hip, his bottom lip brushing against your skin like a wet brush. “You're going to have to try harder than that. I've heard children tell more convincing lies,” he chides playfully.

He braces his hand against your hip and holds it there in an unspoken request for you to lie still. He lowers his head a fraction and shamelessly inhales your scent. The fringe that stands out against his forehead tickles your skin and you have to bite down on the inside of your cheek to distract yourself from the sensation and the want to move. Mayuzumi plants a kiss on the delicate skin just above your apex and lays a wake of softer, lighter kisses up to the low of your abdomen. He dips his tongue into your navel before he presses the flat of it against your stomach, licking a stripe of wet heat right up to your sternum and the beat of your heart.

You exhale a warm breath that catches on the damp of your mouth before you frame Mayuzumi's name on your lips in a quiet but desperate whisper. He's shifting again, his hair dragging like fingertips against your skin as he retraces his former trajectory. You shudder and he stills, centered between your rib cage and your pelvis, a smile bending on his lips that you can feel against your skin in the shape of unaffected arrogance.

You try to keep your composure but if concession is a contest, then Mayuzumi has stolen your compliance and its validity and kept them as the spoils of war.

He climbs higher again, this time to press his hips in against your own. His weight is comforting but the rapid thrum of his pulse leaves you wanting more. The beat of his heart is indicative of his desire and it leaves a stain on you in the shape of anticipation. The firm press of his growing hardness settles between your thighs, drags against your flesh in a way that leaves you gasping for breath.

You aim to card your fingers through his hair again but he catches your wrist, his touch inflexible and unyielding. He leaves the shape of his fingertips on your skin in a pattern that foretells the weather. There's a storm coming as he kisses the inside of your wrist and drags his teeth over your pulse point, his eyes never leaving your face. Then, without any preamble, he pins your arm to the bed and utilizes the grace of a serpent to capture your mouth in a kiss meant for artful masterpieces and reuniting lovers. He captures the bottom line of your mouth between his teeth and tugs at the delicate skin gently—the contrast great when he begins exploring your mouth with the intensity of a desert man thirsty for rain.

“You're cheating,” you say between kisses, inhaling the soft rush of Mayuzumi's breath.

Mayuzumi presses his index fingers to your lips and shakes his head. The gesture is tender and almost sweet, somehow, but he has the hunger of a lion written across his face. “I don't want you to talk. I want you to focus on how this _feels_.” You exhale a short sigh and kiss the tip of his finger before pressing your lips firmly together. Mayuzumi smiles softly and rubs the pad of his thumb across the inside of your wrist. “I promise you, if I'm not playing fair, you won't mind losing this game.”

You search his gaze for some kind of indication of what he has planned for you, some kind of glance to presage future favor, but his eyes remain as clouded as the forecast skies promise rain. Still, you get lost in his nebulous gaze long enough that you start when he speaks out again.

“Come with me,” he says, voice as smooth as the satin sheets you did away with last spring.

You furrow your brow and wonder how you're supposed to move when he has you pinned, quite literally, beneath his body. He makes no attempts to move and you know before he augments his next request that his words go beyond the bounds of simple relocation.

“Let's go somewhere far away from here,” he says. The invitation sounds rich like heady wine on his lips and each word he speaks is charged with cogent lust. He brings your free hand to his lips and kisses each of your fingers in turn, then he drags his tongue over the center of your palm. Your spine curves away from the bed and you involuntarily arch your hips in an unspoken need for friction.

Mayuzumi easily joins your wrists and holds them under the weight of a single hand with little need for readjustment. He noses the fall of your hair and inhales softly, brushes against your temple to exhale a warm breath next to the shell of your ear. You shiver and chase the sensation down the staircase of your spine as Mayuzumi teases your pulse point with his teeth and close traction. He spreads a trail of honey and warm salt down the smooth line of your neck while his thumb dips into the hollow of your throat.

“You're everything I always wanted. You're the very definition of perfection.” The whispered adoration sinks into your skin like the summer sun, imbues you with praise and warmth that travels right down to your bones. Mayuzumi undulates his hips and grinds resistance against your apex, sex drawing a soft gasp of pleasure past his lips that disappears like the tiny motes which dance on the light breeze that sails between your bodies.

Mayuzumi shifts his weight and slides his hands down your arms, trusting you to hold your position as he kneads the tension out of your extremities. “I would do anything for you.” He presses his lips to your forehead, lets them linger against the fever that promises a fine sheen of sweat. “I would steal for you.” He ducks his head and kisses the tip of your nose. “I would lie for you.” His hair grazes your cheek and tickles your nose as he begins to nibble along the line of your jaw. “I would beg for you.” He notes the shift in your breathing and smiles against the junction of your neck and shoulder. “I would crawl for you.”

Mayuzumi returns his fingers to your wrists but this time, he's drawing you in, lifting your hands away from the bed sheets to press your fingers in against his throat. “I would kill for you,” he continues, voice dropping an octave as he applies more pressure against his carotid artery. “I would die for you.” His tone goes raspy and raw like it's being scraped out of the shadows that crowd his throat. “I love you, ____. I don't know what my life would be without you in it.” He presses hard against your skin, an unspoken order that begs for you to fit your hands around his throat and squeeze.

It's not the first time that you've skirted the dangerous waters of uncharted territory, not knowing where you're going to land if you should fall, but Mayuzumi is already advancing—his cool hands wrap around your throat and you can't help but wonder where you're going to go this time. You think about dusty mountaintops and billows of clouds, fully prepared to give all of the breath in your lungs over to the boy above you if he should ask for it.

Your throat still bears the marks of your previous sessions; bruises in the shape of his fingers circle your throat like a dark wreath. You used to hide the contusions but this has turned into an immemorial tradition that needs no cloaking. You wear the bruises on your body like trophies of his love for you.

You don't need material objects as proof of how you feel for each other. Long-stemmed roses and boxes of chocolate pale in comparison to what you feel when you're falling apart beneath Mayuzumi's hands. Heat lances through your heart and branches through you like lightning. You grow dizzy and weak, your vision blurs under the veil of cruel and passionate reception. Every cell in your body lights up just as Mayuzumi's grip loosens and his arms begin to shake from the effort of holding himself upright. His nerves are frazzled and his consciousness is frayed at the seams, and it's apparent in the way he's angling his hips that he can't suspend his desires any longer.

He fades into you as your slip further out into the smoky ether. Something warm and viscous slicks your inner thigh, but the world is on fire and you're too far gone to pay it any mind. Mayuzumi shivers and slumps against your body, a thief in the daylight, a larcenist for your love and affection.

“You just might kill me one of these days,” Mayuzumi manages, his voice as thick as the haze that paints stars across his vision. He chuckles to himself and flicks his tongue out against the layer of sweat that shines on your flesh like the afternoon sun. The aftershocks of your orgasm are still swimming through your veins like little fishes and you take in the salt on your lips like you're drinking in the ocean.

You wrap your arms around Mayuzumi's lean frame and hold him close, your trembling fingers finally sliding through his hair. “One of these days, I just might want to,” you tell him, the barest hint of a smile spreading out across your lips.

“Even now, with the state you're in, you're a terrible liar,” he responds sleepily. He places a lazy kiss on the space above your heart and rests his head on your chest.

You try to think up a response but the heaviness of complacency and the sense of security it brings is too much to fend off. Your eyes dip under the weight of sleepiness, and as your hand begins to slow against Mayuzumi's head, you begin to dream up a world where this moment never has to end. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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